Angels
by Peahopeless
Summary: V decides to pay Evey a late night visit, but he arrives to an empty flat. Upon his return to the Shadow Gallery, he is greeted with a surprise of his own.


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**Disclaimer: **As always, they're not mine and never will be. These characters and places belong to Alan Moore, DC Comics, Wachowski brothers, and Warner Bros. 

**Author's Note:** This is one story of many (over 100) that are written in a timeline format. Not all of these stories have been posted on this site yet (some of them -- rated for adults only -- will never be posted to this site), **but all of my stories -- including those not posted here yet -- have been posted on my aol website**. Just click on my username for more information on how to get to my homepage, or do a search on PEAhopeless V for Vendetta Fan Fiction on the internet.

**Special notes: **Takes place only days after "Company", so give special consideration to the 'special notes section' in that story.

Also, in the movie, in the scene where Evey is watching Monte Cristo by herself (right before she goes back to V on Nov. 4), if you look closely, there's a rose in a vase, sitting on her shelf. That will be referenced here.

There's a Harry Connick Jr. quote in here, whose use was sent in as a request from "shebreathes". So I'll dedicate this one to her.

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**Angels **

How guilty, exactly, should he feel for being here?

V found himself asking this question, as he crouched on one of London's thousands and thousands of fire-escapes. This was a particular fire-escape though ... this was the one that served Evey's flat.

Would she be angry that he was here? Let alone skulking on this darkened landing in the latest hours of evening?

A few weeks ago, he'd slipped in quietly through her flat door ... without fear of startling her, but with the heaviest heart he had ever experienced. Drawn here, trapped within the waking nightmare of believing her dead.

This time was different though. This time it was her life that drew him ... ... the visits she'd been making to the Gallery ... her insistence on pulling him back into her world. And he had obeyed. -- -- Here he was. Willingly, if with trepidation.

Obviously, he'd considered arriving at her door and simply knocking, as the proper gentleman he was. A group of tenants around the front had foiled that plan though. Only a select few citizens knew he still lived, and he wanted to raise no suspicions.

So the fire-escape had become the alternate solution, as guilty as he felt to be doing it. This would probably frighten her, to hear a knocking at her windowpane. But once she saw the mask, he hoped the reaction would pass.

Tap, tap ... tap, tap ... went knife blade to glass.

Nothing. Not even the appearance of any lights within the darkened rooms. Perhaps she was asleep already?

Tap, tap ... tap, tap.

Still nothing.

But he resisted the temptation to simply go home. After summoning this much fortitude, surely he could risk an entrance. Such things were his specialty. And besides, it appeared that she might be gone for the evening.

And yes, that sick feeling was already uncurling in his stomach -- -- it was an automatic assumption that she was accompanied by Mr. Viedt.

... ... Which was expected; which was good; and which was right ... he quickly reminded himself, for perhaps the hundredth time in as many days. He just didn't particularly want to witness it first hand.

Gingerly, the knife blade slid in above the window ledge, the latch giving up its lock easily. And whether Evey would appreciate it or not, V had soon gained his own admittance to her flat.

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The first step, obviously, was to check if the lady was actually at home. Into each room, he inquired the softest whisper of "Evey?" And each room returned nothing but silence.

So she was indeed out for the evening, leaving him feeling -- oddly -- a bit stranded.

Foolish, perhaps, for having come. Guilty, still, for the hypocrisy of invading her personal space when he guarded his own so vigilantly.

... ... But stranded. ... ... She had been coming to him, so now here he was. -- -- And where was she?

One by one, he wandered through each room. Switching on the lights was not an option, as it might have alerted the neighbors. Fortunately, his eyesight had already adapted to years of living in the gloom. And what he could see of her living space most definitely held his interest.

In the kitchen, three dishes, a pan, and a set of silverware had been tossed haphazardly into the sink. She'd never been as fastidious as he ... something that brought a smile as he remembered her weeks spent, over two years ago, in the original Shadow Gallery. That tidbit about her had annoyed him at first. And then ... ... how had it suddenly become so endearing?

Dishes in the sink. Such an unusual, pleasant memory.

The living room was much neater ... a mussed blanket on the sofa and a disassembled newspaper on the coffee table being the only items out of place. A few framed pictures of various friends sat on one end table, and V tried terribly hard not to look for Mr. Viedt. But one's eyes always have a way of going exactly where they're not supposed to. Fortunately though, that man's image was not amidst the display.

Various knick-knacks were arranged on a number of shelves, and among the decorations was a small crystal vase holding an artificial red rose. It did give the masked man pause. The last time he had given a red rose to someone ... well ... it was never the best omen for the recipient.

So who, then, had given her this one? And should he, V, take any comfort in the fact that it was 'artificial'?

Or was his brain simply whirling too obsessively again?

He left the room, trying to put the questions behind him, and wandered hesitantly into her bedroom.

For a moment -- just a moment -- he was startled by a sudden flicker of light in one corner. A motion activated nightlight springing to life. He should have expected it -- -- he knew she'd never been fond of the dark. Far too many childhood memories, where bad things happened ... life-destroying things ... lingered in the dark. It did add more illumination though, which his vision took automatic advantage of.

On the bureau stood his domino, prompting another smile to his face. Even the memory of the sadness in which he'd first delivered it, could not overpower the happiness at finding it still 'among her things'. And her placement of the little black and red rectangle had been surprisingly whimsical. It was sitting upright -- on end -- beside a tiny sculpture of one of Raphael's angels. The little cherub looked up at the domino so innocently. Guarding it perhaps? ... V wasn't certain.

Pictures flanked her mirror ... friends mostly, he assumed ... including a number of dignitaries within the new people's government. Even a framed one with the new Bishop of Canterbury. A far better man by reputation, than Lilliman ever was. But again, to V's admitted relief, Mr. Viedt's likeness was nowhere to be found.

Opposite the bureau was her bed, and he paused, gloved fingers reaching out to sample the decorative quilt. Tossed haphazardly atop were two dresses ... one dark evergreen, the other a fine pattern of dark blue flowers. The latter, he had already seen her wearing -- months ago when he'd watched over her attendance of the new Bank of England's headquarters.

It did, however, call to mind other questions ... in particular, that of which dress had been chosen instead. These abandoned outfits had clearly been part of a decision-making process -- and these were the losers. She'd chosen a third one for her evening out, and the image it conjured was obvious and immediate ... ... that of Evey on Mr. Viedt's arm. A sigh of dejection passed through V's entire countenance, as his rebellious thoughts painted the image in whatever color she might have fancied.

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It was dark red, in fact ... Evey's chosen dress for the evening. Her intended companion seemed to have a penchant for red.

And to her delight, the passkey he'd given her worked perfectly, allowing her easy passage through the Shadow Gallery's alarm systems. This had potential -- definite potential -- she realized, once she'd made her way into the main reception area.

"V?" she called out, wary that she not surprise him too much. He would recognize her voice, of that she had no doubt. But still ... this man and surprises might not mix well.

There was no answer, so she moved to a distant doorway and repeated her entreaty down a long, dim hallway.

... ... Still nothing, and she released a breath of defeat. "Another supply train?" she muttered in quiet humor. "Or out doing your laundry?"

A short distance away, light shown out from one doorway, and she found herself drawn in curiosity. She wouldn't go too far though. Already, she couldn't decide whether getting lost down here would be more frightening, or more embarrassing.

Entering the room, she found it to be surprisingly large. Cavernous, even. And she soon understood why ... ... it was a training area. Weapons of all kinds lined the walls -- -- Spears, swords, throwing stars, medieval axes. Even a crossbow. And knives. Lots and lots of knives and daggers. Quite an impressive collection actually.

In fact, there was her proof that he was indeed out for the night. Six knife sheaths hung empty on the wall -- signifying the weapons he carried with him. And she pinched her mouth in a moment of regret over having missed him, before turning to finish her idle exploration.

Along one wall, three faceless, life-size dummies stared out at her. It did startle her at first, but not badly. Their gaze ... or rather their lack of gaze, having no faces whatsoever ... was a bit unnerving. As if they stood in silent, oblivious vigilance, waiting for their master's return.

She approached one of them, noting the knife cuts that riddled the body's outer leather. Must have been quite a battle, she mused silently to herself. She even reached out, tentatively digging her nail into one particularly deep, flaying cut.

But even being poked by her finger, the lifeless persona still offered nothing but a single-minded glare ... even without eyes.

And suddenly, she realized just how accustomed she'd grown to V's ubiquitous Fawkesian mask. That expression never changed either, but she could still 'see' the man behind. And no matter whether she knew him to be truly smiling at her, just like Fawkes's facade implied ... ... or studying her pensively, the weight of that thoughtful gaze having returned, in just days, to the strength of years ago ... ... she could always feel it for the meaning beneath. She could always feel it.

He would never 'glare' at her with the ominous blankness that these dummies were now using to intimidate her. And she almost chuckled at the silliest thought ... ... maybe that was why V had been so brutal toward the poor sods.

At last she backed away, wondering yet again where her masked man had disappeared to.

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It was about three hours later when V finally returned to the Gallery. A walk had been taken, partly with the hope of finding Evey and assuring himself of her safety, and partly in the dread of what he might find. It had been easier, months ago, when she didn't know he was there. When there had been no temptation to read any implications into her actions. Hope, as it turned out, could be the worst torture.

Nothing was amiss as he entered his abode ... ... it didn't even dawn on him that anyone had been there, let alone Evey.

The hat was returned to its hat rack, the cloak hung beside. Then one knife pulled out of its stirrup, twirled mindlessly in its owner's hand while it was returned to its proper home.

V strode purposefully into his training room, reaching for another knife as he prepared to store them away for the night.

... ... And that was when he stopped.

The middle of the room held a giant mat. -- -- Cushioning against the cold, hard floor during his various workouts and calisthenics. Usually it was left neat and tidy ... ... nothing at all lying atop it.

Now, however, a white sheet of paper stood out in stark contrast to the dark grey mat. And beside it, something small that he couldn't quite make out. He moved closer, the knives shoved mindlessly back into their places on his belt.

Such a reflexive smile spread beneath the mask, once he discerned the object that sat waiting for him. One of the most wonderful smiles he'd enjoyed in hours. Possibly in days. Maybe even in years.

It was the second angel ... ... the partner to the sweet, innocent cherub that sat on his love's bureau, watching with diligence over the domino. And now this one, waiting patiently in the training room, looked up at V with a very similar gaze.

V's smile grew still further ... ... who was supposed to be watching over whom, after all?

Next he retrieved the paper, glancing at the signature first. An "E V". Subtle, balanced reference to the underlying similarity ... or rather, 'coincidence' ... of even their names.

"I'm sorry I missed you," it began. "Maybe tomorrow night, if you're not out commandeering supplies or something. Ha ha."

And he laughed. Genuinely did ... right along with the note.

"Thought you might like this little guy. I have his twin. I just thought ... ... ... well, I'll explain tomorrow, if you want, if I find you."

Then her name ... the "E V" that tickled him anew when he reread it. And finally, a quote he had to admit he had no recognition of. -- --

"The last of my romances has concluded.  
Wars I've lost and loved have thus been fair.  
The battle scars I've gained have all alluded.  
To a decorated soldier of ... despair?"

It puzzled him at first. Who was the soldier, and who in despair? ... ... Was she hinting toward him? Or worse, referring to herself? He didn't want to bring her pain ... ... neither directly, nor through the witness of his own. This would require some thought ... and he already suspected he might not enjoy it.

But for the moment ... for this precise moment ... he would smile.

She was well, and she had come looking for him.

... ... For him.

Like ships in the night, they had passed. And the angel, had brought him an angel.

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The last of my romances has concluded  
Wars I've lost and loved have thus been fair  
The battle scars I've gained have all alluded  
To a decorated soldier of despair

-- Harry Connick Jr., "To See You"

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**Author's Note Revisited:** This is one story of many (over 100) that are written in a timeline format. Not all of these stories have been posted on this site yet (some of them -- rated for adults only -- will never be posted to this site), **but all of my stories -- including those not posted here yet -- have been posted on my aol website**. Just click on my username for more information on how to get to my homepage, or do a search on PEAhopeless V for Vendetta Fan Fiction on the internet.


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